


mistake

by brainyisalwayssexy



Category: Bollywood RPF, Khoobsurat
Genre: F/M, Old Upload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainyisalwayssexy/pseuds/brainyisalwayssexy
Summary: An insight into Milli’s thoughts the night she decides to tell Vikku how she really feels.
Relationships: Milli/Vikram, Mrinalini Chakravarty/Vikram Singh Rathore
Kudos: 6





	mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Straight from the movie, but I love putting in new insight and also this part was my favorite from the movie anyway.

If Milli has learned one thing tonight, it’s probably this: she really needs to stop getting drunk _all the time_. 99.99% of the stupid decisions she’s made in the last six months have revolved around alcohol. She should have seen a pattern by now.

But _nooo._ She just hadn’t learned, had she? If she wasn’t drunk, she wouldn’t be stuck here with Vikram right now, leaning on him as he helps her - no, _carries her_, really- to the Royal Suite. All this, while being embarrassingly exhausted and hammered out of her mind.

Not that he’s much better off- in fact, Vikku may have been taking celebrations a bit too far tonight, considering how wobbly he is. Then again, her leaning on him is probably not helping him at all. Oh well. At least he’s trying. She nevertheless grumbles quietly when he stumbles, hoping he gets the message to _hurry up_ and set her down before they both fall asleep standing up. What a sight that would be.

After a bit more stumbling, he at last manages to lay her down gently on the bed. It’s a sweet, unintentionally intimate moment , and it’s so _simple_ , but suddenly she finds that she’s wide awake, her heart going wildly aflutter because of the way he’s holding her in his arms. His face is literally inches from hers, and his breath is warm on her lips. She lets her eyes catch with his for a fraction of a second before she looks down, her treacherous guilty heart beating out of control. She lets her hands rest awkwardly on his chest, and she swears can feel his heart hammering, too.

_Stay with me__,_ she thinks.

Of course, he doesn’t.

Slowly, he lets her go and stands up, smiling at her from a more respectable distance. It’s safe, friendly. His face softens, and she thinks she can see a hint of tenderness in his eyes.

She smiles back faintly , but her thoughts are somewhere else. She thinks, offhandedly, about how much she wants to pull him down onto the bed by that stupid scarf that he’s wearing and just kiss him. She fantasizes for just a moment what would happen if she did. She imagines him being surprised at first, but then readjusting himself like it’s second nature, pinning her onto the bed from both sides as his mouth crashes onto her own, as he parts her lips and deepens the kiss for them both. She can see him momentarily losing control, the way he did the very first time, and kissing her , again and again, each kiss more urgent than the last, his hands traveling to pull her closer, the liquid tension of his muscles shifting to a roiling boil. She imagines him moving above her, and her beneath him, the two of them gasping for breath together, their hearts, minds , and breaths all in sync. 

She blushes furiously and blinks the thoughts away from her head. She gets up with a start, but she moves a touch more quickly than she should, now feeling dizzy and lightheaded. 

_What’s wrong?_ He asks. He looks genuinely concerned.

_Haha. _The bastard has no clue.

She can’t think of a good lie as to why she’d just bugged out. At any rate, it’s not in her nature to be dishonest, anyway.

She groans and turns to him.

“ I’m getting dirty thoughts just by looking at you.” she admits to him.

If he feels awkward she doesn’t bother to check, rushing now to get as far away from him as possible. He deserves it anyway, she thinks, for making her feel like this. _And_, she thinks to herself, _at least I didn’t give specifics._

***********************************************************************************

She needs water. On her face. Like RIGHT now.

The cold water seems to wake her up a bit. She staggers back into the room and wordlessly gives Vikram back his coat. He takes it back and avoids her eyes.

Their gazes travel to the bed now. Of course, there’s only one bed for the two of them.

Oh, Rajah Suraj Mansingh. The crafty old fox.

She knows what they’re both thinking, and in all fairness, dragging him into bed with her still looks like a very tangible, very attractive option.

He breaks her internal monologue with a suggestion. He’ll sleep on the couch, she’ll sleep on the bed.

“Good.” she agrees. “Safe.”

Not even a full second later, the dirty vision she’d had before mocks her.

Shit. Damn it. She’s an_ idiot._

Too late now.

***********************************************************************************

She quickly finds that she can’t sleep, not with him _three freaking feet_ away from her. She’s lost in her own thoughts, but they’re thoughts about him, and his presence seems almost intrusive, as if he can somehow read them. _Thank goodness he can’t,_ she thinks, _because none of them are anywhere near appropriate._

This was a terrible idea to begin with. How was she ever expected to stay in a single room, overnight, with the object of her burning desire right in front of her, reminding her of her own colossal stupidity? It seems like a nasty practical joke. The universe is probably laughing at her right now.

She knows he’s uncomfortable too- she can feel it in the tenseness in his breathing and in the shifting restlessness of his movements. In that moment, she knows exactly what they _both_ want to do. But of course, it’s their own self-imposed austerity that is stopping them, a fact she knows is driving them both up the wall.

God, this is stupid.

She shifts and tries to fall asleep, but to no avail. At last, with a groan, she gets up.

He gets up and follows her out into the next room. He couldn’t sleep, either. She hears his footsteps behind her, but avoids his gaze until she can feel him sidle up next to her, just as awkward and unsure of what to do next as she is.

“Something feels different here, doesn’t it?” she says, still not looking at him.

He murmurs his agreement, and at last she turns to look at him- _really_ look at him.

She’s struck all of a sudden by how handsome he looks when he’s not so tense. _Goddamnit._

She can feel a tiny pang of longing in her stomach.

And then– _of course_– she has yet another dirty vision.

She imagines him suddenly entering her personal space, without warning. She sees him pushing the blanket off her shoulders, taking her face into his hands , and locking his eyes with hers for a moment, before lowering his gaze to her lips. A moment later his lips follow his gaze, and then he’s kissing her so fiercely she nearly cries out. She groans as she feels him tear down her inhibitions, and at last, she pulls him so he’s got her pushed up against the wall.

She blinks, again.

………….

Well, that was completely unsolicited.

_Good grief__,_ she thinks. She really needs to calm down tonight.

He’s caught her staring at him already, and she gives up. He knows, whatever. It’s fine.

With a wry, tired little grin, she admits the kind of thoughts she’s been having , again. (Ughh.)

He blushes now, and murmurs in amazement, “What are you, Milli?”

She chuckles at herself now, half amused, half mortified with her own behavior. She’s got it so bad for him. What has she become, some blushing schoolgirl?

“Whatever you think, you say. No filter whatsoever.”

She looks at him in surprise. Is that how he lives his life? Entirely through filters? No wonder he’s so hard to understand.

She laughs. “ What’s the need of a putting filter on the truth?” she tells him.

“Yeah, but, that doesn’t mean you should say everything that comes to your mind. Some matters ought to be kept in the mind.”

She tosses him an unusual grin.

“Yes, “ she agrees, “so that in my old age, I should have at least _some_ regrets, right?

‘If I had done this… if I had said this…’”

She turns and looks him in the eyes. “I’m not like that. What’s in my heart, is on my lips.”

She smiles now and turns away. She has that, at least -she always has.

She feels him shiver and she turns to find him shaking a bit.

“It’s a bit cold tonight” he mutters.

“Here,take this” she says, and she offers him the end of her blanket from her shoulder.

He pulls on the blanket, and maybe she should have seen this coming and maybe she shouldn't have, but suddenly the blanket has pulled them so that they’re nose to nose, their lips just inches away from each other’s.

She can see every detail of his face, can practically taste the heady wine that’s still on his breath, he’s so close now. She lets her eyes flutter shut on instinct, lets her face angle towards his, lets her lips hover over his own.

With the last vestige of self control, she forces her eyes open, forces herself to _think._

It’s hard to resist the temptation. It’s painful, really, to not to just close the tiny distance left and cover his lips with her own. The tension has been building _all night_. It would be so easy to kiss him right now, pull him down and make him forget himself - and god knows she wants to- but she’s realized that she just can’t. She can’t so easily give herself away to him, not with her own heart on the line. She must know he feels the same way before either of them do something they might later regret. Any kisses, any touches… none of that means anything if his heart isn’t aligned with hers, if he doesn’t feel for her what she _knows_ she feels for him.

She forces herself away from him and instead goes for a hug. Her heart is beating wildly now, and she can feel a twist of fear from within it, almost a warning cry, telling her not so say what it knows she will-

“Vikram– I’ve fallen in love with you.”

There. She said it. She’s come out and said it at last. And yes, it defies all sense and reason, and yes, he has all the power in the world over her now, but he loves her too, doesn’t he? Surely he must- she knows he does.

She holds her breath and waits.

What seems like an eternity, and then–

“Milli, please.”

She feels her heart stop. She closes her eyes to try and take in what he’s just said. Her mind goes blank. It still can’t process it, doesn’t want to.

_He doesn’t love her._

The chilly night air seems to get a little colder, and it’s as if she can feel a cold breeze whispering into her heart. She suddenly feels bare, naked, exposed. Wordlessly, she pulls back from the now-awkward embrace, taking the blanket with her, covering herself up again as if she hopes to somehow warm the chill creeping in her heart.

He shivers a bit, and meets her eyes reluctantly. She thinks– _hopes?_–no, she_ knows_, that what she sees splashed on his face and in his eyes is unmistakably a twinge of pain, a twinge of regret. But it disappears as quickly as it came, and then she sees him steel himself and walk away without another word, leaving her all alone.

She watches him go. She wishes he would come back.

She turns out onto the balcony and let herself shiver. Tears make their way to her eyes.

She didn’t know what she expected, really.

She feels as if her world has crashed in on itself. Everything she believed in seems to be a lie. Love hasn’t fixed anything. In fact, it seems to have ripped things apart. The idea that she’s lost him, maybe even for good, makes her want to cry.

Vikram. Oh, _Vikram_. She wants so badly to believe that he’s still a heartless, self-serving business _machine_ who cares for no one but himself. It would be so easy to be bitter and blame him now, and hadn’t he opened himself to that?

But she knows it’s not true. She knows, from the way he looked at her so tenderly tonight, to the very first time he took her in his arms and kissed her, to all the small touches and interactions in between, that he really does love her, in the exact same inexplicable, irrational way that she loves him. And perhaps that hurts more.

She saw a shot at something with him. She knows his true feelings. She told him hers, exposed herself to him. But he didn’t do the same. Couldn’t. No, _wouldn’t._

A small part of her still wants to believe there’s some hope left. But she’s seen the look in his eyes, and she knows there’s nothing she can do to get the truth out from him.

For once, it looks like she must give up. The thought eats at her until she can take it no more. With a sad sigh, she sinks into a chair and collapses into a tired, defeated slumber.


End file.
